Captured
by Rredx
Summary: Takes place during Assassins Creed: Brotherhood. What if Ezio was captured during the siege of Monteriggioni? Also, since I can't write guys, I've decided to make Ezio a girl in this story. Rating may change. This is Assassin's Creed so naturally it will be very violent. I'm new at writing so please feel free to give me feedback on how you'd like the plot to go. Fem!Ezio
1. Chapter 1

She had been exhausted that night, nearly falling asleep during her bath. She had collapsed into her bed naked, not even bothering to dry off. She had returned to Monteriggioni that afternoon and it had taken her several hours to tell her allies all that had happened. Her uncle and Machiavelli had been quite upset over the fact that she had chosen to let Rodrigo Borgia live. She knew that she would most likely live to regret her mercy, but she had been tired and half dead and just so fucking sick of killing.

She had arrived home nearly unconscious, her uncle practically carrying her as blood dripped down from the gash in her side. That night in the bath she had traced the stitches holding her wound together, frowning at the blood that weeped from it and stained the water. Undoubtedly it would scar. Another to add to her ever growing collection. At least it was in a place few could see, unlike the line that slashed through her lip. She hated the scar on her face. Not because it was ugly but because it was noticeable. If one were to say to a guard that the murderer had a scar stretching across their face it would be easy to identify her as the culprit.

It was all Vieri de' Pazzi's fault, when he had thrown that fucking rock at her like a coward nearly fifteen years before because he had known he couldn't take her in a fight. Though lord knows he had tried. He had ambushed her in an alleyway several times, he and his _idiota_ friends. She had always broken free and clambered up onto the roof of the nearest building, but not before she had punched him in the face a few times and given him a nice kick in the groin for good measure. Her feud with Vieri seemed so petty now, after all that had happened.

Her sleep, for the first time in years, was peaceful. She had finished. She was done. She could finally put down her blade and rest. No more killing, no more fighting and running until she could barely even stand. She would still be an assassin, of course. She would still go on missions for her uncle. But no longer would she be fighting with the knowledge that she had to avenge her father and brothers weighing her down. She had fallen asleep with dreams of the future mapped out in her head. She could finally attempt to repair her relationship with Claudia, who had always resented her a little for being above the rules, for being able to fight, to travel and wear pants and wield a sword and bounce from lover to lover while she was stuck in Monteriggioni managing the villa's finances and being badgered by their mother to take a husband. Ezio had never quite figured out what made her so different from Claudia, why she had practically been raised a son while Claudia was forced to be a lady. Perhaps it was because she had grown up alongside Frederico, and that he had taken her everywhere with him.

Frederico. It still hurt to think of him and of father and of little Petruccio. She still saw them swinging from the gallows in her nightmares, faces purple and tongues swollen. She was forever thankful her mother and sister hadn't been there that day to witness their deaths.

She had been woken rudely from her sleep by the sound of cannon fire and, assuming it was only target practice, simply rolled over and swore quietly to herself. The peacefulness of sleep was already leaving her.

Then the world exploded. A cannonball tore through her room, showering her with splinters of wood. Ezio tore the sheets from herself, peeling them away after they had dried to her wet body. A hiss of pain escapes her lips at the sudden movement and she feel hot blood flowing down her side but she keeps going. Ezio throws on a simple cotton shirt and trousers before donning her hood. She doesn't even bother to put on her armor. She grabs her hidden blade and thrusts her sword into her belt before moving to the gaping hole that had once been her bedroom wall and leaping out. She runs along the rooftops, desperate to get to the gates, to find out what was happening. She takes control of a cannon as one of her uncle's men tells her that it was the Borgia who were attacking, led by Rodrigo's son, Cesare, and that her uncle was fighting outside the walls, trying desperately to hold them off long enough for the people to escape.

She made shot after shot but it seemed to make no difference. There were simply too many men. Monteriggioni was already lost. It was just matter of time before they breached the walls.

The gates finally gave in, crashing to the ground, and the enemy flooded in, led by Cesare himself. She had certainly heard of him before but this is her first time seeing him in the flesh. He's tall, with dark hair and a pointed beard. He is young too, younger than her by several years. She doesn't have long to look him over however, as she sees the man that is being dragged behind him. Her uncle. With urgency dulling the pain from her wounds, she climbed from one rooftop to the next until she was directly above them, ready to strike.

Then Cesare pulls Mario to his feet and shouts "Ezio Auditore, I know you can hear me! My father sends his regards!"

Before she could react, a gun has fired and her uncle's body was lying in the dirt at Cesare's feet, blood flooding out from the gaping hole in the side of his head. Her mind goes red. All thought, all reason has left her and all she can think of is avenging her uncle.

With a scream of fury, she runs forward, preparing to jump off the roof and thrust her blade into that _bastardo's_ neck. Then pain explodes in her shoulder and she is falling falling falling and landing in a crumpled heap. The bullet wound in her shoulder burns like fire and judging from the wetness running down her side, her stitches have likely burst as well.

She tries to get up off the ground, to stand, to fight, but her limbs are heavy and her mind foggy. Her strength fails her and hands pull her up and begin dragging her by the shoulders. She has not the strength to resist.

Ezio's mind is swimming and suddenly she finds herself on her knees staring at a pair of armored legs. She resists the urge to look up, not wanting her enemy to see the pain clearly visible on her face. She fixes her eyes upon the cobblestones with her head bowed and her face obscured by her hood. She is in so much pain that it is a miracle she is still awake, and angry tears work their way down her face, creating streaks where they wash away the dirt and dust.

She hears cruel laughter coming from above her head.

"Oh how the mighty have fallen. The infamous assassin, the great Ezio Auditore kneeling at my feet. You should have learned by now, all men, no matter how strong, eventually fall before the Borgia."

She spit blood at his feet and a gasp escapes her lips as his iron-clad foot connects with her abdomen.

"I did not think you a man to be so easily taken. I had expected more of a fight. A pity, really, that the man does not live up to the myth. But no matter. The end result shall be the same regardless _._ I shall break you and then I shall make you beg for death."

Something stirs in the back of her mind, though the haze of pain and rage. He had called her a man. Could he really be that misinformed? She knew that the Templars didn't exactly advertise that the greatest threat to their organization was a woman, but she found it hard to believe that Rodrigo's own son, bastard though he was, wouldn't have been told the truth. She wants to laugh in his face but the sight of her uncle lying dead cools her mirth. Rage sets back in and her temper finally snaps.

"I swear to you, you _bastardo_ , that the last thing you shall feel before you are taken from this earth is my blade carving your heart from your chest. _Questo vi prometto._ (This I promise you.)" She spat the words at him, knowing that she would not stop, would not rest until he was choking on his own blood. All thought leaves her mind, leaving it blank but for the red, pure bloodlust running through her veins.

Her face smashes into the ground and a foot stomps down on her back and then darkness takes over and she knows no more.


	2. Chapter 2

Ezio wakes slowly, her mind dulled by pain. She feels a warmth on her side and jerks awake upon realizing it is another's hand. She opens her eyes to see a friendly face staring back at her and for a moment she forgets all that has happened. She forgets Mario and the destruction of Monteriggioni. She sees his face above hers, lips parted in concentration, and feels the sting of a needle piercing flesh and she thinks that she has simply stumbled into Leonardo's workshop bloody and bruised and he is once more patching her up. But there is sadness in his eyes and a bruise freshly formed stands out against the paleness of his cheek. Her head is still swimming from the pain but she sees his lips moving and becomes aware that he is talking to her, whispering soft promises that that she will be okay. He doesn't seem to notice that she has woken. The blonde artist just keeps apologizing, over and over again as he pushes the needle through her wounds and she cannot understand why.

But then she feels the cold stone against her exposed back and she lifts her eye from her friend's face and sees cold stone walls and a heavy wooden door and nothing else. This is not Leonardo's studio. This is not her room in Monteriggioni. This is not even the room she sometimes slept in at the thieves guild. No, this is a prison cell. Memories come rushing back, a cannonball crashing through her room, her hopeless attempts to defend Monteriggioni, the gates failing. She remembers her uncle falling to the ground, the gun in Cesare's hand going off before she has a chance to act. She remembers the burning pain in her shoulder, and the way her body slammed feet first into the ground. She remembers being dragged before that _bastardo_ and listening to him gloat. And she remembers her head smashing against the cobblestones. But then, nothing. The assassin supposes she must have fallen unconscious and been taken and thrown in this cell. But she cannot understand how and why her friend is here tending to her wounds.

"Leonardo", she forced her lips to form his name and winces at the way it comes out, raspy and weak.

He hadn't thought her awake, that much is apparent from the way he jerks back, dropping the needle and holding his hands in the air like he was trying to say he meant no harm. She supposed his reaction was normal, given that in the past she had woken badly and thought him an attacker. But the guilt on his face, the shame, those are foreign to her and she tries to pull herself up into a sitting position.

"My friend, what has happened? Where am I?" Her voice is weak and it breaks in several places but she is far too busy searching her friend's face for answers to care. She tries to sit up and he pushes her back down, hand carefully avoiding the bandaging on her shoulder.

"I-I am sorry Ezio. I had no choice. Cesare learned of my inventions and commissioned me to build him weapons. He does not know that we know each other. I did not know that he would use them against Monteriggioni, against you. I learned what had happened only when he returned and sent me down here to care for a wounded prisoner. Forgive me." His voice cracks at the end and she sees his eyes fill with tears.

His words whirl through her head and her mind, slowly as it is currently working, still recalls the gun Cesare had had. The one that had killed her uncle. The bullet that had torn through her shoulder. She can't breathe. She sees him, kneeling over her with pain and uncertainty in his eyes and she knows that this was not his fault. That to refuse a Borgia meant death. But still she wants to strangle him. To wrap her hands around his throat and squeeze until the colour has left his cheeks and his heart has stilled.

"The gun", she snarls, throat dry and cracked. "You gave him the gun."

She sees him flinch back at the ferocity in her tone. She wonders if he truly understands what he has done.

He leans back, eyes cast to the ground, face pale as snow. "He had heard of others using them and wanted one of his own. If I hadn't made it for him, someone else would have. I swear to you though, I didn't know!" His voice becomes fervent at the end, and she can see the desperation in his eyes.

She pushes back the pain, the rage, the hatred, and focuses on him, on her friend, on Leonardo. She remembers how she came to him with the entire city guard looking for her and gave him a handful of papers and a broken blade. She remembers all the things he built for her, all the times he stitched her wounds, all the years they had known each other.

Perhaps it is the pain or the mental fog from hitting her head but she cannot help but think how very young they had been when she first met him, how she carried that box for him and how he had chatted animatedly about his paintings with her mother. Back before everything had changed. Before she had changed. She wants to hate him, to rip his throat out with her bare hands for what he has done, but all she can see is his face when she came to him that first time when the wounds of her father and brothers' death were still fresh and she was barely keeping it together. He had seen her kill the guard that had shown up at his door and had simply told her where to put the body. No matter how much blood stained her hands, he had never abandoned her. The logical part of her mind overpowers the rest and tells her that she'd prefer him working for her enemy than as another dead body hanging from the gallows. That image of him with eyes empty and body lifeless makes her cringe.

No. He is her friend. Perhaps her only true friend. The only one who stayed by her side simply because he wanted to. The only one who wasn't using her as a blade to wield against their enemies. Her eyes fall upon the angry bruise marring his cheek and she knows the truth. That he is as trapped as she is.

She lifts her head and she sees him hold his breath, "It is okay Leonardo. It is okay. There is nothing to forgive. Now, you must tell me everything that you know."

The relief spreads across his face and she sees him exhale. He looks as though he is going to break down but he doesn't. He sinks down against the wall next to her and begins to speak.

"You are in Roma, in the _Castel Sant'Angelo_ , Cesare's fortress. The Borgia rule this city. From what I have heard, the brotherhood has been all but cast out of Rome. I do not know what has happened to your mother or sister. They were not found when Monteriggioni fell. I believe they escaped."

She feels herself go limp at this news. Her mother and sister were not in this prison with her. They were most likely okay.

"You must find Machiavelli. He will know what has happened to them, to everyone. You must tell him I am alive." He would be able to care for her her mother and Claudia, to keep them from harm as she had failed to do.

Her body aches and she can feel the darkness sneaking in on her. She is tempted to let it take her for now, to give in to the much needed rest her broken body begged for, but then she remembers. She remembers what Cesare had said when she was on the ground at his feet with her blood spilling out onto the stone. He had thought her a man. His father hadn't told him the truth and he hadn't bothered to do any research of his own on her. She sees the opportunity and snatches at it.

"Leonardo, he believes me to be a man. His father has not told him otherwise. You must tell him the truth. It will cause him to begin to trust you and set a wedge between him and Rodrigo. Tell him that you knew my family a long time ago, in Firenze. Tell him as much about me as you could plausibly know. Tell him of my parents, of my brothers. Tell him the story of the scar on my face. Tell him everything up until I showed up at your workshop with the codex page wearing my father's robes."

The artist looks at her as though she has gone mad. He raises a hand to her forehead as though to check for fever, his fingers lingering in her cheek.

"My friend, I cannot. I will not. _Iddio_ (God) only knows what he will do once he discovers the truth. I won't betray you to him." He looks down at her, his face set with the same determination that it had shown when he was shaken and bruised after that guard had beaten him all those years ago. When he had helped her hide the body of the first man she ever killed.

She is fading, blacking out once more and she knows she has little time before darkness claims her once more.

"You must! If we are to have a hope of defeating him, he must trust you. I cannot do this on my own. If you do not tell him and I am seen by some other doctor then he will know you lied and he will kill you. You must tell him everything that he could conceivably find out from others. You must tell him about the incident when I was twelve, what Vieri de Pazzi did to me. His father most likely knows. All of Firenze knew what happened. Tell him that story last. Seem reluctant to bring it up. If you are too eager he will not trust you. You must keep him focused on me. You must make him trust you. Build him his weapons, tell him the truth of my wounds, tell him of the rumors of my mother's madness after my father and brothers died. Say as little as possible of Claudia. That will keep him from looking too hard for them." By the time she finishes with her tirade, she is exhausted and her head is pounding and she knows she has no more time.

"Promise me Leonardo da Vinci, swear on the lives of my mother and sister, swear on my own life that you will do as I say." She reaches for his hand and her shoulder screams in agony.

She is unconscious before she hears his response. Unconscious as he cleans the rest of her wounds, as he cuts the binding from her chest before replacing her thin bloodstained tunic. He leaves her assassins robes on the ground beside her, folded neatly belt with the symbol of the brotherhood displayed prominently. He arranges her hair so that it frames her face, short as it it. He makes her look as feminine, as womanly, as possible before he leaves, wiping the dirt from her face and using the fresh blood seeping from her side to redden her lips.

He had rarely seen her like this, so vulnerable. Even in the past when she had passed out on his table with blood streaming from her body she still looked like she could wake and stab him in the throat at a moment's notice. She looks younger. Not at all the the killer he knows she is. He always thought she looked peaceful in sleep, even with the bloodstained clothes and the chalky colour her skin has taken on. He is struck by the contrast of red against white, just like her robes.

He picks himself up and begins to leave before turning around and whispering, "I pray you are right about this, _mio amico_."

The heavy wooden door slams shut behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

She woke suddenly, pain spreading through her.

The world swam and it took her a moment to see him, to see her enemy standing above her. It had been his boot connecting with her stomach that woke her.

He stares at her, raking her body up and down with his eyes, lingering on the chest clearly visible through her thin cotton shirt, and on the face, framed by short soft brown hair normally tied at her neck. The face that on a different occasion might have passed for that of a feminine male. The face that was now clearly female.

If she had the strength she would have snapped his neck and gouged out his eyes as he continued to stare, but in her current state all she can do is glare boldly back at him, ignoring the pain that seemed to press in from everywhere all at once.

He seems slightly stunned by her appearance and she thinks that perhaps if it hadn't been for the scar on her face and the robe lying beside her, her would have thought her some random woman taken in off the streets. But there is bandaging around her side where his father had said he had stabbed her and her shoulder is wrapped where the bullet had struck her. There is no doubting it. The woman lying before him is Ezio Auditore. When the inventor had come to him he had laughed him off, saying he had most likely examined the wrong prisoner.

But then, Leonardo da Vinci began to speak, hesitantly at first but gaining confidence with each sentence. He spoke of a girl he had met a long time ago. Of her family. Her mother, her father, her brothers. The information roughly matched up with what he had been told by his father, except for the glaring detail of the great assassin's gender. He had ordered the inventor to wait in his rooms and had made his way to the dungeons to see for himself.

And there she was. Lying there asleep. Most of her body bloody or bruised.

And she had been a woman. Undeniably a woman. What with the soft peaks hiding under the fabric of her shirt or the shapely legs covered by tight fitting trousers. The first emotion he felt was rage, rage at his father for having kept such an important fact from him. The second he felt was disbelief, disbelief that a woman could do all that she had done. For god's sake, this was Ezio Auditore, legendary threat to the Templar cause. And yet there she lay, just a woman.

He kicked her in the ribs and she emitted a sharp gasp as her eyes fluttered open. They are unfocused at first but once she sees him she glares, her face filled with hatred. He can hear her gasping for breathe. See her body tremble with the barely concealed pain, but still she glares at him as though sheer will alone will cause a sword to find a place to rest between his ribs.

"So it is true." He states, a cold fury visible on his face. He has none of his father's self control, that she can clearly see. He is far more emotional than Rodrigo, far less calculating.

In her pain addled state she smirks, amused by the rage visible on his face. How she hates him, him and his father and all the others that have destroyed her home and murdered those she had held so dear. The smirk widens and a weak laugh escapes from between clenched teeth.

"I would have thought such a powerful man to be more informed about those he chooses to fight. To know your adversary is to know victory. Such a shame, to find out that the son does not equal up to the father. I see why he would not have told you the truth. I wonder what else he has lied to you about?" She mimics the disappointment he had thrown at her when she had been captured and the taunt is effective. Not a moment later his boot slams into her ribs once more and she slumps to the ground, gasping for air. But still she smirks. All she needs to do is show no pain, no anger, no rage, and she will win this little conversation of theirs. All she needs to do is keep laughing and she remains in control.

Control. It took her years to learn how to control her emotions, how to wait for the right time to strike, Control was something she could see he lacked.

"And yet I have managed to do the one thing my father never could. I have killed your uncle and I have burned your home to the ground. I have done what he, in all his years of dealing with you, never could. I have you lying at my feet, weak, defenseless, and we have the apple. You have lost, Assassin. Count your days, for you have few left."

The apple. Her tone turns cold and the mocking smile drops from her face as she speaks, the memories of what those spirits had told her still fresh in her mind.

"Do you truly think that the apple will lead you to greatness? It was not meant for you, nor for me. It is meant for someone else. Only he will be able to do with it what was meant."

He is momentarily startled by the abrupt change in her voice, in her eyes, even in her posture. It is as if she is somewhere far away, and the words that she speaks are empty, as though she is merely a messenger. He wonders, yet again, what had happened in that vault beneath the Vatican. His father had been unable to tell him and though he doubted his father's belief that it had been god in that room, he can see something in her, a conviction that speaks of something greater in play.

He kneels beside her and pushes a blade under her chin, pressing against soft flesh until a bead of blood appears.

"What did you see in the Vault? What did you see?" He nearly yells it at her, desperate to know what secrets she has been given.

"I saw the truth. A truth that you shall never know." She speaks so softly she is nearly whispering, and in anger he takes hold of her hair and smashes her head against the ground before getting up to leave.

"Nothing is true, Everything is permitted." He hears her say as he walks from the room, fury running through his veins. He ignores her. Ignores whatever nonsense she has said. None of it matters. He has won.


	4. Chapter 4

She was dreaming. That much she knew.

She was in the vault, and her father stood before her.

"You are not done" he tells her before fading away. It almost hurts to hear his voice and with a start she realizes that she had forgotten what it sounded like, that she could no longer recall his laugh, no longer remember the songs he had sung to her as a child.

She wants to run to him, to call out, to beg him not to leave her, but before she can take a single step, she is in the sparring ring at Monteriggioni, her uncle opposite her, sword in hand.

He rushes forward, sword swinging towards her head and she raises her hands to protect herself only to find a sword in her hand as well. They are sparring as his men look on, taking leaning against the wall to get a better look and making bets on who the victor shall be. Metal clangs against metal and she can feel the blow vibrate through her. Her arms ache as she pushes forward, shoving his blade out of the way and somersaulting to the other end of the ring. He advances on her with a series of blows and she can barely find the strength to defend herself. She hears a roaring in her ears and realizes it is cheering.

Then, she is on the ground and her hands move to her ribs to find a sword hilt sticking out of them. She pulls it out and then her uncle is on the ground in front of her, blood gurgling from between his lips, and she realizes that he is trying to speak. She pulls him into her arms and he gasps out "There is still much left to do. Your work is not done." And then he is still and there is blood covering his face and his eyes are lifeless and her shoulder burns like fire.

Then she is falling falling falling and she hits the ground hard. Arms pull her forward and she looks up into the face of Rodrigo Borgia and he asks "You didn't truly think that it would be so easy?", before sinking a blade into her side.

She is on her back, and the sky is burning, everything is burning, and she knows that somehow, she has failed.

Ezio wakes gasping for breath, still feeling the fire on her skin, and she is afraid. That last part of her dream had felt so real. She could still feel herself burning, and there had been nowhere to run. No way to fight.

She doesn't know how long she was unconscious, only that when she went to sleep it was night and now it is day. There are a small loaf of bread and a cup of water in front of the door and it worries her that she hadn't woken when they were delivered.

She tries to pull herself up and a groan escapes her mouth. Her side is feeling a bit better but her left shoulder sends shooting pains down her arm to her hand with every movement. She knows that she must be careful and allow it to heal properly lest it permanently cripple her ability to use her left arm.

She tries, gingerly, to move her fingers, and is relieved to find that they each respond to her command. Next she flexes her wrist and is satisfied by the range of motion she is able to achieve without too much pain. She doesn't dare try bending her arm though. She knows that that would put too much strain on her shoulder.

The Assassin pulls up her shirt and moves the bandages out of the way. Her side is healing nicely, though there is some redness that worries her a bit. She will have to ask Leonardo about the chance of infection if he manages to visit again. She pushes her shirt back down and looks at the robes lying beside her. In the back of her mind she wonders why she was allowed to keep them but she chooses to just be thankful. It is cold and her clothes do very little to preserve the warmth of her body.

She pulls the robes over her body, hissing at the pain the movement causes her. It hurt. God, did it hurt. But, like always, she ignores the pain in order to complete her task, which is mainly to stay warm and to cover herself a bit.

The familiar feel of the fabric against her body comforts her, and she pulls the pointed hood down low over her face. The material her robes are made out of is thick and somehow water resistant. It easily soaks up whatever blood leaks from her without letting it seep through the fabric and show on the outside. The material is also warm, though it somehow always felt cool to the touch on a warm day. She never put much thought to what her robes may be made of, but she supposes it must be something special. Definitely not a common material like wool or cotton or even silk. But she supposed it didn't really matter in the end.

This was when she felt best, when she was wearing her robes, hood obscuring her face but somehow not her vision. Of course she would be far happier if she had her hidden blade or her sword or her gun or even her crossbow. She would have taken a fork if it was offered to her. But still, just wearing her robes make her feel better, more confident. They manage to take away the fears that have been worming their way into her mind. The fears for her mother and her sister. The fears for her friend. The fear that she will fail. The fear that she will die.

Death, it was never really a concern to her, even though she was its cause quite often. She had nearly died so many times she no longer bothered to keep count. It never really bothered her. She just always figured that if she died it would be because she made a mistake. And if she was careless enough to make a mistake perhaps she deserved to die anyways. She had never really been _afraid_ of dying.

No, that fear was drilled out of her head when she was taught how to do leaps of faith, when she hurled herself off of buildings over and over again only to land safely. Her uncle had taught her that as long as you felt no fear you would be safe. That fear causes errors, causes mistakes, like those you would make midair that would cause you to land awkwardly. To take a leap of faith you have to relax every muscle in your body. You must truly believe that you will be okay. You must not be afraid. You must have _faith_.

Faith. Such a funny word. She had seen the dangers of blind faith. Seen so much blood spilled in the name of it. And yet, what was she, but a practitioner in her own right. Her uncle had always stressed belief in the creed above all else, adherence to the creed above all else. And she had obeyed, following words that even after all these years she still barely understood.

The codex had explained some things, had helped her to understand, but now that was lost. She wondered what her enemies would make of it. Pages and pages of philosophical ramblings. They would probably laugh, find it silly. She had molded her life around the words on the codex, taken in every sentence with an urgency that belayed her fear.

If it hadn't been for the anger fueling her in the beginning, and for the words of Minerva in the vault, she would have lost her faith years ago.


	5. Chapter 5

Her head is dizzy. Blurry shapes flit in and out. She hears her sister calling out to her sometimes, begging, screaming. She has been watching the wound on her shoulder. The skin surrounding it is red and purple blotches are spreading across her chest. Yellow and red seep through her shirt. She had taken off her robes at some point, though she cannot remember doing so.

It is cold in this cell, this cage she is locked in. So cold and yet she sweats like she's been training for hours. Somehow she is freezing and burning at the same time. There is fire racing through her veins and yet it is as though she has spent time swimming in a frozen creek because violent shivers tear through her.

There is something wrong with her. Something very wrong. That is what her thoughts, muddled more and more each day, tell her. Ezio does not know how long she has been here. It can not have been long since there are only six uneaten plates of food in front of her. She tried to keep eating, to keep up her strength so that she could set her plan in motion, so that she could win this war against the Borgia and the Templars and finally rest, but she hasn't felt hunger since the eighth day she was brought here.

Early on she realized that Cesare did not mean to kill her. He would have done it at Monteriggioni if that was his intent. No, he wanted her alive. Most likely he wanted her to tell him about the vault and the secrets that had been revealed to her within.

Ha. She would die before she spoke of what had happened, of the ghostly figure and the words she spoke and the sadness and the anger and the message that was not meant for her but for another. Desmond. Maybe he was the key to ending this war. Maybe he would have the power to do what she and her fellow assassins never could.

It is comforting, in a strange way, to know that this mysterious Desmond is watching over her from somewhere. That just maybe she will have made a difference in this never ending fight after all. In her fevered state she talks to him. She doesn't know if he can hear her but she supposes it doesn't really matter. Talking is a way to keep herself lucid in this state, where she has lost the strength to sit and most of her time is spent dreaming of a future that she will never have.

Forgiveness.

She thinks about it a lot.

She knows that all that she has done, every death, all of the blood on her hands, it has all been necessary.

She has been doing what she has to to serve the brotherhood.

But she also knows that all of those men she killed. All the Templars. They were just doing what they had to do for their cause as well.

Not that she doubts the tenets or the brotherhood but she is tired. Tired of being the monster hiding in the shadows while her enemies live in luxury, hailed as heroes.

This war seems endless. For every victory the brotherhood seems to suffer ten more losses. For all of history it seems the Templars have held power while the brotherhood has fought for freedom. Why must they hide while their enemies live in the light.

She wonders sometimes if they really are the good guys. If they really are the right ones. How could so many powerful intelligent men be so very wrong? It makes her doubt humanity. It makes her doubt the very people she has been fighting to save. After all, they cheered when her father and brothers were hung. They cheered the death of a twelve year old boy. Perhaps they really are the doomed rats the Templars make them out to be. Perhaps they don't deserve freedom. Perhaps they need to be controlled, to be corralled like animals.

Control.

Freedom.

The never ending fight between the two.

The Templars say that the Assassins court chaos. That they are liars and killers. That they work to undo all the progress that has ever been made.

The Assassins say that the Templars want only to control, to oppress, that they want only power and domination.

Stay your blade from the flesh of an innocent.

But who are they to chose who is innocent?

Here we seek to promote peace, but murder is our means.

How can they ever hope to stop the endless cycle of bloodshed if they are the ones spilling the blood?

Nothing is true, everything is permitted.

If nothing is true then why should we ever believe in anything? If everything is permitted then why should we ever abstain from anything?

You cannot know anything, only suspect.

If they cannot know anything then how can they be so certain that their cause is just. That they are right.

It is these things that keep her awake. She killed for the first time to protect a friend, not to keep to any tenents or ideals. the second time she killed was to avenge her family.

Even after she had become part of the brotherhood it had been about revenge. About killing the man who had had her father and her brothers killed. The man who had tried to have her hung alongside them.

Her wounds have caused the dark corner of her mind, the part that she keeps locked away at all times, to open. It engulfs her like a hurricane. She is tired. Tired of this fight. Tired of losing everything and everyone over and over again. How is one to live like this?

She wonders halfheartedly if this reflection is a sign of her impending death. It would be fitting in a way. She accomplished her task. Maybe now she can finally rest.

She is caught somewhere between dreaming and hallucinating when she hears the door rattle and she open. She feels a cool hand cupping her cheek and her foggy brain sees a familiar face peering back at her. He is saying something, yelling, but she s too far gone to hear or even understand. And then she's floating and arms are around her and somehow she understands that she is being carried. That is her last coherent thought before the world explodes with light and she goes limp, her mind lost to fevered dreams.


End file.
